


Kilt or Skirt?

by genmitsu



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fake-Out Make-Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16490864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu
Summary: For Gobblepot Halloween 2018 event.The night of Halloween the GCPD runs an operation and that means you gotta dress up, even if you're Jim Gordon.





	Kilt or Skirt?

 

 

“I’ll just go like this!”

“It’s out of the question, Jimbo,” Harvey grumbles. “Do you have any idea how people would react to people in civvies? Or cops?”

“There are plenty of people in their civvies in the streets!”

“Yeah, but not the kind we’re interested in. And no cops. Really, the only kinds of cops you’re going to see there are the sexy kinds. So shut up, and suit up.”

“Why do you even have such a thing…” Jim proceeds to take the costume pieces out of the bag Harvey brought him, “I mean, seriously. Aren’t you Irish?”

“So?” Harvey squints at him. “Not like I have to dress up as a leprechaun. This was my costume back in the day.”

“A kilt,” Jim snickers.

“I’ll have you know I broke some hearts wearing that. This one’s got good karma. Perhaps we’ll catch our bad guy thanks to that.”

 

The streets of Gotham are exceptionally colourful tonight, with lights everywhere, kids and teens and adults wearing all kinds of costumes. Harvey was right, Jim thinks, they would’ve stood out like sore thumbs in their regular suits. But it’s such a mess all around it’s practically impossible to spot anything illegal going on. So far the worst he’s seen is the ungodly amount of booze for teenagers and young adults, but that… what can he even do? Prohibit them from drinking, confiscate the booze? They’re just going to find something even less safe to drink or use and it’s just going to be a waste of time and good cheer. Jim can only hope the kids would be sensible. After all, the hospitals have been properly staffed and put on high-alert tonight, all available units are out patrolling, and everything should be fine. Really. Perhaps he might even enjoy the festive mood himself. The square he’s patrolling is a tourist spot, so it’s cranking up the Halloween theme to the maximum and it’s hard to resist.

All of a sudden he sees a familiar figure, but maybe it’s someone else - someone suicidal, Jim thinks. After all, you’d have to be pretty unhinged to masquerade as the notorious King of Gotham, who, by the way, spots him and makes his way towards Jim, ignoring the crowd and moving through it like the king he is.

“What a surprise,” Oswald smiles at him with fondness he’s not even trying to tone down. “Fancy seeing you here, Jim, and all…” he trails his gaze down Jim’s body and lifts it back up slowly, meeting his eyes again, “dressed up.”

Jim suddenly feels uneasy. The kilt’s been pretty warm and he almost forgot he’s wearing a costume, but now, with Oswald paying him so much attention Jim remembers everything this costume consists of. The kilt, duh, proper and nice, in Sutherland tartan, as Harvey told him, is surprisingly comfy and less breezy than he would’ve thought. The black hose are shielding his calves from the cold wind and the sporran holds his wallet and his phone. The formal jacket could fit neither Harvey nor him, so Jim had to settle for his leather jacket, but it isn’t a bad look - especially if the appreciative flicker in Oswald’s eyes is anything to go by. Jim feels blush creep onto his cheeks and squares his shoulders defiantly. So what. He can enjoy it if Oswald likes the way he looks tonight, all else be damned. Oswald is a man of great taste, after all, and he also looks exceptionally good, and yeah. Jim can enjoy it. It’s perfectly fine to.

“I’m surprised you’re not wearing a costume, Oswald,” he smiles back at him.

“Oh?” Oswald tilts his head. “Some might argue I always wear one.”

“You know what I mean,” Jim waves his hand, gesturing to the crowd.

“Yes,” Oswald nods with another sweet smile. “But tonight is more business than pleasure, I’m afraid.”

Jim can’t help his ears perking up. “Business, huh?” he asks. “What might that be?”

Oswald tsks and wiggles his finger at him, charmingly cheeky. “James, James. Would I even mention it if it could put any wrinkle in your own plans? It’s all over and done with already.” He leans closer to Jim and lowers his voice. “But I can help you with yours, if you wish.”

“Should I even be surprised you know about it at this point?” Jim asks rhetorically, smiling. “I suppose I could use your help,” and company, really, because Jim would be lying if he said he didn’t miss seeing Oswald more often. “You probably know about that new drug hitting the streets,  _ Skyhigh. _ We’re tracking the main dealer tonight.”

“Yes,” Oswald nods. “We should resume your patrol then.”

He falls easily in step with him and puts his arm through Jim’s - left, of course, always the considerate one - as they start walking.

“Tell me what he looks like, Jim,” Oswald says softly and Jim has trouble focusing on all of that at once, because Oswald is so close, his arm is so warm even through all those layers of theirs, and Jim can even smell his cologne a little bit. Something warm, like cloves or amber, and so nice.

“Um,” he clears his throat, trying to get back to business. “So. Damien Moro. He’s about six feet two, dark hair, dark eyes. Kind of looks like Cary Grant, but, you know, less handsome.”

“You think Cary Grant is handsome, Jim?” Oswald chuckles. “That’s nice.”

“Don’t you?”

“He is easy on the eye, I’ll give him that. But you know, my tastes run in a rather different vein.”

“Like what?” Jim asks, unable to resist the curiosity.

“I find the wild drive of James Dean quite alluring. And if his eyes were the kind of blue like Peter O’Toole’s or…” Oswald glances at him quickly, “well, he’d be irresistible.”

“I didn’t expect that,” Jim says. Somehow the picture in his head doesn’t match anything and he can’t really recall how James Dean looks, and why is he suddenly jealous of a long dead actor? It’s irrelevant and senseless, he tells himself, but does it do anything for him? Nope.

“How do you know what this guy looks like, Jim?” Oswald asks after a short pause.

“A victim described him before he died. It wasn’t much, but this Moro dealer was caught on camera in the vicinity of the spot where he dealt to the victim, so we have a pretty good lead.”

“Ah. So it’s not like he’s especially clever, is it?” Oswald chuckles and Jim joins him, the soft feeling of camaraderie pleasant and welcome. It’s always so nice when they can work together. Oswald truly is the best head in Gotham, and if only he directed his energies and efforts to legal practices… then it’d be so much easier, right?

“Jim, I think I see someone like that,” Oswald says, tightening his hold on Jim’s arm. “Don’t look, he’s… oh.”

“What?” Jim asks, anxious but refraining from turning his head around.

“I think he’s suspicious of us,” Oswald says with urgency. “Quickly, Jim-- You have to kiss me.”

Jim stares, dumbfounded, as Oswald stands still in front of him and slides his gloved hand onto Jim’s nape, urging him to inch closer.

“He’s looking right at us, Jim, pretend we’re a couple,” Oswald whispers insistently. “That should throw him off…”

And then Jim doesn’t think. He’s thought about it too much and too often already. He’s fantasized about it. He wanted it. He just never thought he’d be able to act on it, but - this is a permission, so he just gets on with it.

Oswald’s lips are hot against his despite the chilly weather, the skin just slightly chapped, and even imperfect like that they still meld with Jim’s to perfection. Jim brings Oswald closer, his body so tight and tense in Jim’s arms - is he anxious that Jim would reject him, would be angry with him for this? Oswald should really know better at this point, with their history and everything…

The thought of being made by their suspect is the least in Jim’s mind with Oswald’s hands on his shoulders and he can’t  _ not _ kiss him properly, not when he has the chance. James Dean who? See how James Gordon can kiss you, Jim thinks as he caresses Oswald’s mouth with his. Oh. Oh. Was a kiss ever so sweet? Why is it their first, why? It’s getting harder to breathe, but Jim is reluctant to break away to the last, pressing his lips gently to Oswald’s and trailing after him when they do part.

Oswald is so close. Sure, Jim remembers pulling him in for the kiss, but actually seeing him like this - it’s been a while, really. And they’re usually arguing when they’re in each other’s face like this, so, definitely an improvement and the one Jim could really get used to.

Oswald bites his lip, trying to stifle a dopey smile. “You…” he starts and does grin despite himself. “You really put your mind to everything you do, don’t you, Jim?”

“The only way to do it,” Jim says and winks. Oswald’s presence is invigorating like a glass of sparkling wine, it spurs Jim on to act recklessly, like a little boy or a teen, to continue having the privilege of his company and attention. He should’ve realized what it meant sooner. Yeah. Pig-headed all the way.

Jim looks around carefully, remembering his mission, and he catches the sight of Moro to his right. The crowd is a good place for him to operate, especially near those food stands with Halloween-themed street food and souvenirs where both tourists and locals mingle.

“Want to go check those stands out?” he asks Oswald and adds “Darling?” in a sudden bout of inspiration.

Oswald looks at him with such intensity it could’ve floored Jim if he weren’t holding on to him still. Please don’t think it’s a jibe. Please don’t think it’s a joke. I want to be able to call you that. I want to, Jim thinks, tightening his hold on him.

“Sure,” Oswald nods, averting his eyes, their intense gaze dimming, but he puts his arm through Jim’s again and walks with him closer to where Moro chats some girl in a witch costume up.

“Those chocolate spiders look so much like the real things,” Oswald says lightly, pointing at the sweets. “Almost make my skin crawl.”

“Do you want one?” Jim chuckles.

“No way!”

“I kinda want to watch you eat it.”

“No way, Jim! Really! I wouldn’t be able to take one even in my hand, not to mention my mouth!”

Jim’s gaze drops to Oswald’s mouth immediately, imagination running wild, and that blush floods his cheeks again, but before he can fully succumb he sees Moro slip the girl an ampoule. Jim whips his badge out of the inner pocket and steps forward.

“GCPD! You’re under arrest, Moro!”

And of course, he bolts.

Jim gives chase, hurrying through the crowd and into the alley after him, leaps over the overturned trash bin easily and tackles the dealer. They both come crashing on the ground, but Jim is easily on top and he immobilizes Moro’s legs pressing down with his knees and he notes just how easy it is to move, nothing pulling at his hips, nothing hindering his movements. The kilt sure is lucky.

Jim locks Moro in handcuffs and calls in the arrest, and he leads him back to the square to pass him on to the patrol car unit, and sure, it’s his collar, and he should follow up, but… there’s another thing that needs following up, and Jim looks around, searching for Oswald. Their eyes meet simultaneously and they start moving towards each other through throngs of people and then they’re together again and Oswald looks him over anxiously, reaching his hands out and stopping.

“I’m fine,” Jim smiles and he takes Oswald’s hand. “Are you?”

“Why would I not be fine, Jim?” Oswald says, exasperated. “God. You’re always so… flashy, old friend. Sometimes it’s bad for my heart.”

“Let me make it up to you?”

“Well… I did help you,” he smiles with a hint of smugness and reaches into his breast pocket. “And I bought that ampoule back from the girl. I suppose it would come in handy in the investigation.” Oswald hands the small thing to Jim and looks at him with relief and that fondness again, and Jim can’t resist it. He kisses him, this time with more passion, more intent and more… everything.

“Thank you,” Jim grins at him after. “And the offer stands. Let me make it up to you.”

“I… might have some ideas about that,” Oswald says, breathless. “Let’s get out of here for now.”

And, as they walk out of the square, Oswald’s hand tightens over Jim’s as he leans closer and whispers in his ear.

“By the way, James, I’ve been  _ dying _ to know… are you wearing a kilt - or a skirt?”

Jim flushes all over and swallows.

“You’re welcome to see for yourself, Oswald. Quite so.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure you all know the difference between a kilt and a skirt, but just in case - if the man wears underwear with his kilt, that makes it a skirt. If you wanna wear the kilt properly, gotta go commando XD


End file.
